vista

O stranger, afraid in a world I never made,

Prisoned heart, guilty of fear,

As flocks feareth  the wolf,

the crops the storm, and the trees the wind

I crouch in agony, fearing fear, devoid of life

 

O, how vain and vile a passion,

Kaiser of hell, master of a wraith

What maketh  me you do?

The concessions of the week the ordain of fear,

Chiseling strangers of blood, from the yarning of kin

 

Thy can’t hurt me more than a dream

shall take your council no more

thou can’t kill me from the fear of thee

In a vacuous life, lies there no hope

Vanquish fear, for there is not anything to hope

 

Flowers bloom at the edge of darkness

With the smell of love, free from you

Lieth in the womb of my imagination

You shall lead my life no more

O, the fire of  icarian wings, Burn me not, and let me free

 

 

New life

Psychedelic colors, Mint cooled air

Life, just, true and fair

Soft the zephyr blows, Dream a dream,

Basking on the banks, the nimble stream.

The auster sky, apposite maquillage

Calm hesternal excitement, thrills of yester age

Oasis of nugacity but that was yestereen

Now I lie whispered by the wind, robed by a halcyon mien 

I see her amble the sandy bank ,

the gambol of a nymph, before a  prank

her Soft wet steps and the sway of the gentle hand

as Stars gild the evening sky, like the beads of a broken band

 

I ne’er was struck before that hour
her face it bloomed like a sweet flower

With love so sudden and so sweet
awake I sleep my heart complete

I pray she hears my silent voice

flowers blooming without choice

for I have never seen so sweet a face

my heart has left its dwelling place

As I stood there before

in a place I can return no more

as my blood burnt my heart

my life is about to start

 

                                    sunil

Picture source

 

 

Odious Warren  

Beautiful vista, small though…

Benevolent sky, a falling kite,

Swaying in blue a triangle white

Free as child an insouciant sway

Played the skies, its playful way

Bid the wind on each swing

Now it falls like a king

There is beauty in the fall

Beautiful vista, small though

Spirited garden, a growing tot

Teetering in green a yellow dot

Spirit of eagle the ardous search

First ten steps, the adulation of church

Treads the ground the operose path

Now it falls, aah!!  the mud bath

There is beauty in the fall

Beautiful vista, small though

Oaky door, a budding tear

Budding in the yellow a silver sphere

Love of the lover, the clinging hand

The golden glow of a eternal stand

Heart is full, for it is a wedding ring

Now it falls in one string

There is beauty in the fall

The setting sun,

The autumn setting,

The falling river,

The snow falling….there is beauty in the fall

So why should I live a life like this

Stringed to machines,  life amiss

With a beautiful vista but a small door

Can not feel the warmth of the wooden floor

I lived like a soaring kite

Twenty years a great sight

When there is beauty in the fall

Why confine me to this wall

 

sunil

 

*Dedicated to all the brave soals who are terminally ill but cant be free because of legal issues related to euthanasia

For long time it seemed to me

That life is yet to be

Life I would Say..

Just ’round the corner, it lay

But for this small, Debt to pay

There is no more traverse en-way.

Blissful Gloss.. amorous way

Bright and Shining, no cold day

Life is like the leafy sway

No more tempests, just the breezy bay

Life would begin I would say,

Just around the corner it lay,

But for this small, errand on way,

It is going to be happy and gay.

Crimson red�butterfly ray

Chaste Trance is there to stay

Life is like an exultant play

Without restraint, like the Chinese clay

 

Life would bloom I would say

Around the corner it lay

But for this small, job today

It is going to be the just belle(t)

            Sandy beach…Cherry sorbet

            Clement spring, no harsh May

Life is like that Easter day

No more dolor, just a amaranthine holiday

 

Then it dawned on this day..

MY life started a long time away

In search diamond, Ah! The charcoal grey

what I missed, prismatic display

Real life is a cafe au le..

Bliss and galore in one bouquet

Ambers and cambers are here to stay�

Crusades are going to wanton away

For this is life, and it started when I was born one fine day

Picture Source

Tiny droplets shine and jostle, Windy night

Whishpers’oft, as the light flickers, to tease….

a smile,

from the tumult of your eyes, like the smell

of clove, in a strepitous bazaar.

Tiny droplets shine and jostle, Aureate dawn

recreant darkness, as the flowers bloom, to steal….

a smile,

from your saturnine heart, like the scarlet blush

of nymph, in a sequestered hallway.

Tiny droplets shine and jostle, Clarion noon

drowsy mute, as the bee buzz, to squeeze….

a smile,

from your sanguine soul, like the anxious wait

of bride, in a tranquil aisle.

Tiny droplet shine and jostle, mawkish dusk

marching seas, as the birds nest, to nudge….

a smile,

from your crimson lips, like the yearning song

of canary, in a hermetic wood.

 
Tiny droplets shine and Jostle,  
windy night Whishpers’oft…………….                      

                                                 
sunil varma
(This is an old blog….which i had deleated by mistake i am re uploading it. So all those who have read it before i hope you like it again.)

Gloomy dawn and heavy skies

A dying mother and a weeping child…..

How important few more pounds can be? Ask the weeping child not me!

For a few more pounds can save his mom,

Take the grief of the weeping child and the pain of a dieing maid.

He runs house to house for few more pounds,

Pitiless rain makes it hard,

As the soft feet cut on the obdurate stone

How chilly can the December wind be? Ask the shivering child not me

But few more pounds can save his mom,

Make his life shine with joy and bring a smile on the dieing maid.

On the street is an apparatchik lord,

“10 pounds a day, to yell and tell how great the mayor is…..

Stick the flag on the shirt and run the city for a fee”

How do you stick a flag on a shirt? Ask the shirtless child no me

But a few more pounds can save his mom,

Let him be a child he is, on the warm hands of the dieing maid

“Don’t have a shirt my lord, but for half the fee I can yell and run
The good sir read, all his rules and gave a look at the little boy….

“My poor boy! Flag has to be”

How do you stick a flag on your chest? Ask the bleeding child not me…

But a few more pounds can save his mom

Take the pain off his chest and the tears of a dieing maid

All day long the child has run,

with a flag on his chest and smile on his lips

Yelling how great the Mayor is…..

How does one yell with a bleeding chest? Ask the smiling child not me

But few more pounds can save his mom

Bring some light into those rident eyes and a life in to the dieing maid

 

As sun simmers down in the west the west

And rain is tiered raining, the child runs to the lord and says….

“Six pounds is going to save my mom and four let there be”

The mayor calls the child and shows, a banner on the tree

Stick the flag on the shirt and run the city for a fee

“How can one pay without a shirt?” Thou shall not ask me

 

As the sun sets and birds return to the nest…..

The child lies with a wounded chest

As his mother lies in a wooden chest

I ask “How important few more pounds can be”
                                                                                             sunil varma

____________
This is a story that i have read when I was a kid, dont know the author. It was something that was resident in me all these years and i wanted to write it in my own way. Due credits to it original autor.

Wait….

Mother waits, neonate grins

Flowers wait, the bees spin,

Dew drops wait, pristine dawn,

Groom waits, bridal lawn, 

What is life, but a string of endless waits?

Beetle waits, spiders’ claw,

Innocence waits, corrupt guffaw,

Widow waits, bygone way,

A grey beard waits, judgment day,

What is life, but a Sting of endless waits?

Bliss and dolor, the cross of Lorraine

Like the leaf and the thorn, on a thicket vein

Each can’t stand one another

One is imperfect without the other

I stand await to ask you straight,

“What is life, if there is nothing to wait?”


Sunil Varma….

Source of Photograph

Words

As words fade………..intentions, dazzle my eyes.
As words sear………..convictions, sting my nostrils.
As words intoxicate…adulation, assault my senses
As words thunder……abomination, split my eardrums.
“Words words words …..”

As words slowly drip,and their meaning slither my back.
These tiny winged words,perched on my lobes
urgent relentless whispers
“Words Words Words ….” 
What are they but grimy patina,on a gleaming surface
scrub hard
and you will yourself feel. . .
the chaste emotion laced with hard nut shell. . . “

                                                                              Sunil Varma

Tiny droplets shine and Jostle….

Tiny droplets shine and jostle, Windy night

Whishpers’oft, as the light flickers, to tease….

a smile, from the tumult of your eyes, like the smell

of clove, in a strepitous bazaar.

Tiny droplets shine and jostle, Aureate dawn

recreant darkness, as the flowers bloom, to steal….

a smile, from your saturnine heart, like the scarlet blush

of nymph, in a sequestered hallway.

Tiny droplets shine and jostle, Clarion noon

drowsy mute, as the bee buzz, to squeeze….

a smile, from your sanguine soul, like the anxious wait

of bride, in a tranquil aisle.

Tiny droplet shine and jostle, mawkish dusk

marching seas, as the birds nest, to nudge….

a smile, from your crimson lips, like the yearning song

of canary, in a hermetic wood.

Tiny droplets shine and Jostle, windy night

Whishpers’oft…………….

                                            

                                                                        ……..sunil

           

---

 When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value

Later, when the nurses were going through her meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland.

The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the Northern Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to theworld, is now the author of this “anonymous” poem winging across the Internet:

---

 Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you’re looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
“I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe?

 Who, resisting or not,
 Lets you do as you will,
 With bathing and feeding,
 The long day to fill?

 Is that what you’re thinking?
 Is that what you see?
 Then open your eyes, nurse,
You’re not looking at me.

 I’ll tell you who I am
 As I sit here so still,
 As I do at your bidding,
 As I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
 That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
And a secure happy home

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
 Bound to each other
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
Have grown and are gone,
 But my man’s beside me
To see I don’t mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

 Dark days are upon me,
 My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
 I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
 And I think of the years
 And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman
And nature is cruel;
 ’Tis jest to make old age
 Look like a fool.

 The body, it crumbles,
 Grace and vigor depart,
 There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living
Life over again.

 I think of the years
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
 Look closer . . . see ME!!

---

 (Well i really donot know if the story is true….it came as a forward to me. I am sure it is not going to cange my life but what i has done for sure is, a change in perspective when I see an elderly lady again.
Thinking about it aloud…I fell it has a lot to do with our Halo in life….we percive things in life rather than interpret the perceptions. The root cause of all hate and prejidice is because we react on what we see rather than interpret what we are seeing.
I imagin the the lady in her hospital bed waiting for the inevitable and pleading to interpret her for what she was rather than what she is……but i guess she is asking the wrong set of animals that we call humans,who have somewhere down the line lost the ability of interpretaion of reality.)

Source of the Photograph